Battered Bastards of Ida
by PunyHooman
Summary: DELAYED. Nikolai Cross, a twenty two year old officer freshly commissioned in the UNSC in early 2527, is assigned to a battered group of marines from the 17th Marine Division, who have already been fighting on the colony of Harvest for a year. In the eyes of the UNSC, survival for both Cross and his troops is optional. Victory is not. Can they make it through to the other side?
1. Chapter 1

**Battered Bastards of Ida**  
 **Chapter One: Arrival**  
 **January 21st, 2527**

* * *

 _"The Harvest Campaign. One of the first major battles of the Human-Covenant War, and one of the bloodiest that Charlie Company saw all war. To be honest, none of the men or women in Charlie Company thought we were making it off Harvest. We were dropped off in early 2526 and we weren't shipped off until well into the Harvest Campaign. We were there for all of it. In the first year, we lost one hundred and twenty three marines out of a two hundred and seventy five man group. That's when he showed up. He was just a lieutenant then, but the things he'd come to do in the days ahead..." Excerpt From Charlie Company Member CPL Jose Ortega's Personal Journal._

* * *

Twenty two year old Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross hesitantly walked off the ramp of the D77-TC Pelican dropship that had transported him down to the partially glassed surface of the war torn human colony known as Harvest as the other enlisted marines aboard the dropship rushed off. He had been assigned as a replacement marine in Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment of the 17th Marine Infantry Division.

Harvest was once a agriculture powerhouse of the UNSC, but as of right now, the colony was nothing more than a trench covered planet of battlegrounds with over half of the planet glassed by the awe inspiring weaponry sported by the Covenant Navy. One massive graveyard for human military members, civilians, and the alien force known as the Covenant alike.

Cross was shaken to his core, to say the least, by what he saw in front of him. Tens of dead or severely wounded military personnel lay, scattered around the makeshift transport platform, awaiting transport into the space above Harvest where another battle was being fought. They'd be lucky if their dropships made it out of the upper atmosphere.

He was standing in what had once been a hamlet within the Plains of Ida, one of the main agriculture regions on Harvest before the arrival of the Covenant. Now, it was nothing more than scorched landscape with burnt out hulks of what had once been homes and small farms. It was sickening and showed just how outmatched humanity seemed to be. Cross was already discouraged and he hadn't even fired a single bullet in combat yet.

"Lieutenant Cross!" A fatigued marine shouted at the marines who were rushing off of the arriving Pelicans, brushing past them in search of Nikolai. "Lieutenant Cross!" The marine shouted once more.

Antonov jogged up to him, with his shoulder rank indicating that he was a corporal. "I'm Lieutenant Cross, Lance Corporal." He stated.

"Lance Corporal Isaac Jackson, L-Tee, forgive me if I don't salute. The alien snipers pick off officers like crazy. I wouldn't run around saluting anyone, sir, it's bad business when we have to cleanup the brains because of a mistake." Jackson explained with a yawn and a shrug of his shoulders. His appearance definitely left something to be desired from the fresh out of Officer Candidate School Lieutenant, but Cross knew these marines had been torn to shreds by the aliens for nearly a year.

"Are you apart of Charlie Company? I've been assigned to First Platoon."

Jackson smirked. "So, you're the lucky guy taking over for good ol' Patty Wiseguy, eh? The poor Irish schmuck never saw what hit him, I swear." The Lance Corporal stated with a chuckle.

Cross frowned. "Patty Wiseguy?" He questioned.

"Our last platoon CO. He tried to lead a charge across a hundred yards of open terrain with half his platoon already wiped out. He got fragged."

"Fragged?"

Jackson shook his head in seeming disappointment. "K.I.A. by his own side, L-Tee. A corpsman from the company took him out with a scalpel to the back of the skull once ol' Patty gave the order for us to charge over open terrain. Ramirez couldn't take seeing anymore of us die under that prick, I 'spose. He got rotated out and placed into military arrest." He explained with a half smile.

"Wonderfully reassuring, Lance Corporal. Is Captain Schmidt nearby, Jackson? I need to check in with him." Cross questioned the enlisted man.

"Yessir, he should be holed up in the cellar of the two story barn house across the way. That's company CP right now. When you want to see First Platoon, we're bunked out in the toppled silo. Can't miss it. It's about fifty yards east of the barn house. Right past the motor pool, or what's left of it anyhow. Watch out for plasma, L-Tee. Hate to lose a platoon CO his first day. They've been shelling us all week and we have no idea where their fuckin' mortars are." With that said, Jackson quickly disappeared from Cross' sight, without so much as a trace.

Cross sighed, picking up his duffel bag and grasping his select-fire M392 Designated Marksman Rifle tightly by its strap. Suddenly, a whooshing sounded out, followed closely by the cries of nearby marines. "Cover!" Most of them shouted, with corpsmen diving onto their wounded patients to shield them. A large plasma blast flew over Cross' head as the Lieutenant quickly hit the deck, covering his head with his arms.

It landed close to fifteen yards away, taking out two marines and wounding six others who had been gathered around, smoking cigarettes. "Not gonna see much of the war from down there, sir." A Sergeant commented, as he calmly passed by the cowering Lieutenant.

Cross shot up, his heart pounding from the nearby explosion, feeling lucky to be alive. He shook his head, ignoring the cries and protests of the wounded, before continuing onto Charlie Company's Command Post. The Lieutenant only had to avoid a mortar shot once more before reaching the two story barn house and being ushered into the cellar by a marine guard. Cross practically fell down the stairs from the guard's push, but he appreciated being under solid concrete.

An empty ammo crate was laid out in the middle of the room, being used as a table to hold maps and other intel vital to operations, and a single backpack radio was being operated constantly by a incredibly fatigued Private First Class. Three men, a Captain, a First Lieutenant, and a Gunnery Sergeant were crowded around the ammo crate, viewing a map of what Cross assumed to be the surrounding area.

"Sir." Cross spoke, gaining the Captain's attention.

The Captain was older than Cross, in his early to mid-30s. His face was currently untrimmed, with a jet black stubble, with several streaks of gray, covering much of the lower half of his face while his head remained clean shaven, devoid of any hair. "Who are you?" Captain Matthias Schmidt questioned, with a slight Germanic accent to his words.

"Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross, sir, reporting as ordered"

"That's great, mister Cross. Now that I know your name, why exactly are you here? I need experience, not a child who does not know how to shave." Schmidt paused, taking a deep breath, whilst rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "God help us." Schmidt muttered under his breath. "Welcome to Charlie Company, Lieutenant. Excuse my comment, you surely understand my disappointment. It is in no part directed at you. This is First Lieutenant Geoffrey Killian and Gunnery Sergeant David Williams. I am your commanding officer, Matthias Schmidt, and I have little time to talk. Ask what you need to ask now." The Captain ordered.

Cross nodded. "Yessir, what is First Platoon's strength? I hear they took casualties." Cross stated.

Schmidt scoffed at the statement. "Saying they 'took casualties' is an understatement, Cross. You have eighteen men left of the original forty three, with sixteen replacement privates joining you today. That leaves you with thirty four men and women total, with half of them being inexperienced. Your acting platoon sergeant is currently Sergeant Westin. Lieutenant O'Connor, or Patty Wiseguy as his troops called him, did not do credit to his training and got many marines killed. I hope you do better. Now-" Schmidt was cutoff by another mortar shot, which shook the building to its foundation. "That is all I have time for. I must return to planning." Schmidt stated simply, dismissing Cross.

Cross stood, bewildered for a moment, before backing away from the Captain and exiting the cellar. He groaned as another mortar shot came sailing in, with him throwing himself to the snow covered ground for cover. The marine guard posted at the door of the cellar shook her head as she lit a cigarette, with the mortar shot landing near where Cross' dropship hand landed. "They generally shell where the Pelicans land, sir. They're pretty big targets. Took one of the dropships down two days back and command's reluctant to send anymore our way." She explained, exhaling a cloud of tobacco smoke.

Cross stood, brushing off snow and reclaiming his weapon, and nodded to the female marine. "Thanks." He stated, before jogging off towards where First Platoon was bunked with his duffel and rifle clutched tightly in either hand.

"FNG won't last a day." Cross heard the guard muttered under her breath as she inhaled another puff of her cigarette, but he simply ignored it.

It felt like a lot more than the fifty yards that Jackson had described when Cross was crossing it under fire. The motor pool, which consisted of half a cinder-block garage and four very haggard Warthogs, was under fire from an enemy plasma turret that was setup on a hill several hundred yards away from its position. Nobody seemed panicked by this and the mechanics working on the Warthogs simply worked under fire as several marines returned fire with their 7.62mm assault rifles.

Cross practically dived into the jagged hole that served as the entrance for the silo, which had sandbags around it to act as fortifications against enemy fire. A brick building, which was in shambles just like the other buildings within the Plains of Ida, shielded the silo from the plasma turret that was currently engaging the motor pool.

The thirty four members of his platoon lie, scoured about the fifty foot tall silo which laid on its side. They were in various states of appearance, most of them catching up on the much needed sleep. "Howdy, Lieutenant. Welcome to First Platoon's personal shit hole." Jackson greeted him from where he sat, propped up against what Cross presumed to be his duffel bag, before pulling a dirty and stained boonie hat down over his eyes to catch up on sleep.

The sixteen replacement privates that Schmidt had been speaking of were in the process of settling into the bunk spaces they had claimed for themselves. Some of them, who were fresh out of boot camp, stood at attention when Cross entered. He motioned for them to return to ease, while he moved to find his platoon sergeant. "Sergeant Westin?" He questioned, looking around.

A weary man, wearing a heavy winter jacket and ballistic armor plating over his chest, stood up. The man placed a square field cap, which had the UNSC Marine Corps logo on it, over his head and approached the Lieutenant. "Reporting." Sergeant Westin stated, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and taking one out. He offered Cross one, which the Lieutenant took, before putting the pack away and light both his and Cross' cigarettes.

"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Cross questioned, deeply inhaling the stale cigarette smoke that Westin's cigarettes emitted.

"Simply put; the platoon's fucked, sir. I'm the only Sergeant, we've got three Corporals, one Lance Corporal, and a shitload of Privates and PFC's. We've got no spare weapons, some of us are using scavenged rifles, carbines, and submachine guns from leftover Army and Militia supplies. Hell, I'm using an MA3C Assault Rifle. These things have been obsolete for almost half a century, yet, here I am. We've got nothing in the way of winter clothing and the snow isn't letting up anytime soon." Westin explained the grim situation that First Platoon was currently in.

Cross sighed, before nodding his head. "Right. How's ammo?" He asked.

"About as well off as weapons."

"Wonderful." Cross stated with an obvious tone of sarcasm. "How rested is the platoon? And what's being thrown at us? I noticed the artillery, which doesn't seem to be stopping, and that the motor pool was under fire from a gun emplacement. Is there anything else?" Cross questioned, setting down his rifle and duffel bag to cross his arms over his chest.

Westin shrugged as he contemplated how to answer. "Right now, you're well rested if you get two hours of sleep, sir. The Covvies probe our lines every night, two attacks at almost the same times every single night. Most of the time, our line is spread so thin that they wander right through and end up flanking us by walking straight up the middle. The company's got two machinegun emplacements, one on the road next to CP and the other back at the landing zone to cover the wounded and what supplies we've got left. We're the only unit that has pushed this far into the Ida Plains, so we get the most shit thrown at us. We get one dropship per day with little-to-no supplies aboard and getting the wounded evacuated is a hellish thing. All five platoons in the company, including ours, are currently filled with replacements." The Sergeant explained, going into detail.

"Any attacks during the day?"

"Two or three is common, but they seem keen on just wearing us down with artillery. They almost took out Schmidt and the rest of the CP when we first got here three weeks back and it wasn't even this bad back then. Anyway, the attacks during the day are sporadic in size, duration, and when they take place. A week back we got slammed by at least a company's worth of the squid fucks. That's when we lost Patty Wiseguy and the best corpsman I've ever known. No offense, sir, but I'm glad Ramirez offed Patty. That was the best thing that's happened to this platoon since we got here." Westin stated, dropping his cigarette onto the floor and stamping it out with his combat boot.

Cross nodded in grim understanding. "From what I've heard so far, O'Connor took a lot of unnecessary risks with the platoon. I'll do my best not to put you guys into the situations he did." The Lieutenant stated sincerely.

"Hmph, I suppose we'll see about that, sir."

"Has Schmidt told you about plans, patrols, anything of that nature?" Cross questioned.

Westin shook his head. "None that I know. We took the most casualties out of all the other platoons in the opening push to make it to this hellhole, so we're not getting shacked with patrols, unlike those poor bastards in Second Platoon." As Westin finished his thought, two ear-deafening whistle blows sounded out, driving the marines within the silo to their feet and grasping for their various weapons. "We don't have radios! Two whistle blows indicates enemy attack!" He shouted over the sound of projectile and plasma weaponry alike.

Cross grabbed his rifle and exited the silo, immediately shouting orders. "Westin, take two squads and reinforce the motor pool. Anyone else form up on me! We're moving to the CP!" The Lieutenant shouted, jumping straight into the action as plasma bolts flew overhead. The Sergeant grabbed most of First Platoon and sent them into the makeshift fighting positions within the trench-line that ran past the motor pool and almost all the way down to Charlie Company's Command Post.

Cross led the rest of the platoon behind the trench-line, bypassing most of the firefight, back to company CP. The ten marine group, led by Lieutenant Cross, l made it to Schmidt's CP and found it in chaos. The Covenant had made it past the middle of Charlie Company's defensive line and we're now laying siege to the two story barn house, which was defended by only a handful of marines. "Grab cover and return fire!" Cross shouted, raising his rifle to take down a handful of Grunts he had charged towards him with plasma grenades in hand.

One of the bigger blue armored aliens, commonly known as Elites, charged towards Cross with an ignited energy sword. A marine with an M90 Shotgun intercepted the Elite, firing two quick bursts into the Elites chest. The Elite dropped the sword and collapsed into the marine, knocking the shotgun wielding PFC down to the ground.

Most of Cross' marines were utilizing empty ammo and various supply boxes which laid about the courtyard as cover as the fanatic Covenant forces suicide charged straight into their lines with reckless abandon for their own lives. Several of the Covenant were close enough for hand-to-hand combat, with the marines winning in that category. The smaller Grunts and Jackals were no match for the knives and rifle smacks that the marines delivered to their bodies.

Cross continued firing, while the aliens were slowly halted by the ferocity of the marines, slowly beginning to back off from the company CP. Captain Schmidt himself had joined the firefight, utilizing his M6D Personal Sidearm against the retreating Covenant. When they were fully pushed back, Cross' group had suffered no casualties and the Covenant advance up the middle had been halted in its tracks, but the firefight continued around them.

As corpsmen took care of the wounded, Cross took his men and sprinted back to Westin's section, reinforcing the weak trench-line. "Lay it on!" Cross shouted as tens of Covenant charged across the snow covered plains to attack the reinforced position. Cross heard a machinegun open up on them, realizing that Schmidt had sent one of the company's two machineguns to reinforce his platoon's position.

It took a mere half minute to defeat the Covenant's halfwitted suicide charge. One marine in this portion of the trench-line was K.I.A., a female replacement from Fourth Platoon, while Cross' First Platoon took no casualties and one wounded. Corporal Jackson's shoulder had been grazed by a plasma shot. Minor third degree burns, but he wouldn't need to be evacuated, much to the Corporal's dismay. He was hoping it would be bad enough to get him off the line, but alas, he wasn't that fortunate.

"Keep them on line for another half hour, Westin, I'll be back as soon as I can." Cross stated, before clambering out of the trench and sprinting back to CP, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. It was his first time in combat and he was shaking ferociously, but there was a job to be done. Schmidt stood in the courtyard of the barn house, shouting out orders. "Sir!" Cross stated, gaining Schmidt's attention.

"Cross, any casualties?" The Captain questioned, his accent seemingly thicker.

Cross shook his head. "Negative, sir. One graze wound, but nothing noteworthy to report. We've repelled the attack on the left part of the line." The Lieutenant reported to Charlie Company's commanding officer.

"Good to hear. I appreciate the quick thinking earlier. If you had not come with your platoon, I fear we would have lost the command post. If we lose this position, they have access to the landing zone and what little supplies we have." Schmidt explained. "Send a team to assist Third Platoon's middle trench-line and have them take the machinegun team with them. They collapsed last attack and I still haven't heard from Lieutenant Barrackman about their status. I fear the worst." He ordered.

The Lieutenant nodded his head. "On it, Captain." He said, before running back to his platoon's portion of the trench-line. Cross clambered down into the trench, pausing to take a quick breath, before moving to one of the three Corporals left in his platoon. "Corporal-" He waited for the name to be supplied.

"Jack Hagar, sir."

Cross nodded. "Corporal Hagar, take a fireteam to help hold Third Platoon's line. The Covenant know we're vulnerable their. Take the machinegun team as well and hold the line until further orders." Cross stated the order quickly, with Hagar nodding and grabbing three other marines and the two man machinegun team before running off towards Third Platoon's fighting position.

Westin turned to Cross with a slight smile on his face. "That your first, sir?" He questioned.

"First what, Westin?" Cross asked, his knuckles turning ghastly white from how tight he was grasping his rifle.

"First firefight, L-Tee. Better than O'Connor, that's for sure." Westin stated, causing several of the veteran marines around him to chuckle upon hearing Patty's name. A mortar shot quieted the laughter, as the Covenant artillery resumed shelling their position. Somehow, this seemed to bring relief to both Cross and the other marines. It signified that this attack had failed and that the Covenant were returning to their usual method.

Cross sighed in relief, allowing himself to slump to the snow covered ground and take a break. The others simply broke out cigarettes and various scraps of food to celebrate their short found pause from the combat against their ruthless enemies. They all knew it would be short lived, but it was appreciated by the marines of Charlie Company nonetheless.

A marine jogged past the ones that occupied the trench, stopping in front of Cross. "Captain Schmidt is calling for you, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros is at the CP." The marine messenger explained, before sprinting away from the Lieutenant.

"Don't let the line collapse while I'm gone." Cross ordered Westin with a half smile, before following in the messenger's footsteps, running off towards company CP once again. He hadn't even been on Harvest for a full day, yet, and he was already missing the simple thing that was a standard issued UNSC backpack radio.

Upon his return to the company CP, Cross noticed that half of the barn house that held the company CP within its cellar had collapsed at some point during the firefight, with plasma scorching on the ground around the rubble. Captain Schmidt and a middle aged man with the silver oak leaf cluster insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel on his combat helmet. Cross knew that it was Lieutenant Colonel Roberto Cisneros, 3rd Battalion's commanding officer, walking with the Captain.

"Hold this fucking line, Captain. I've got Alpha and Delta pushing up as fast as they can and I'm working on lighting a fire under Captain Foley's ass to get Bravo Company up here as well, but Charlie is still the furthest company pushed into the Ida Plains in the whole battalion, hell the entire UNSC campaign in this region hinges on your unit right now." Cross overheard Cisneros explain as he approached the two, snapping to attention in front of them.

"Sirs." Cross stated, choosing not to salute as to give away their status as officers in case any enemies were watching them.

Neither of them did either, with Schmidt simply motioning for the Lieutenant to follow them. "I'm doing what I can, Colonel, but I'm losing men with each attack. My own company sergeant, Gunnery Sergeant Williams, was killed in the last attack. I just got word from the middle line and learned that my Third Platoon has eleven men left after that attack, with twenty five K.I.A., with Lieutenant Barrackman barely holding the line." Schmidt explained.

"God help us, Captain, but I don't have the resources to pull Charlie off the line, yet. I'm doing all I can, but the fleet in space is taking a helluva beating. From what I hear, they may pull out and leave us alone down here. I'm trying to get both 1st and 2nd Battalions to send a relief force, but they're entrenched in the ruins of Valkyrie, awaiting a counter campaign that isn't coming. Brigadier General Kennedy and his entire headquarters staff was reported K.I.A. last night after an attack in the ruins of the city of Gladsheim. I don't even know who's in charge of the campaign right now and high command seems just as confused. We're losing forces fast, but we need to hold." Cisneros stated with a defiant nod as they descended into the cellar which housed the company command post.

Williams' dead body laid under a tarp near the corner, with a corpsman examining another wounded marine who was slumped in the corner next to the deceased Gunnery Sergeant. "Very well, sir, but I cannot hold for another week. This company is on borrowed time and I'm losing more than I am receiving in the way of supplies and reinforcements. Lieutenant Cross here arrived just today and has already seen one off one of the largest skirmish forces we have faced yet." Schmidt explained morbidly.

Cisneros turned towards Cross, with his hazel eyes seemingly staring through the replacement platoon leader. "Have you had time to review your marines, Lieutenant?" The Lieutenant Colonel questioned.

"Yes, sir. I have thirty four men and women armed with a variety of weaponry. From what Sergeant Westin has told me, we have no winter clothing, little rations, little-to-no ammo, and most of them are using extremely outdated weaponry scavenged from dead Militiamen and Army forces. I haven't had time to extensively inspect my platoon's status, due to the last attack, but so far it looks grim, sir." Cross explained to 2nd Battalion's commanding officer.

Another artillery shot landed near the company CP, shaking the cellar once more. Cross didn't even react to the impact of that shot, as he did to the others earlier in the day when he had first arrived. Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros flinched slightly, but didn't throw himself to floor as Cross had done a mere hour ago. "Goddammit all to hell. You let your platoon know they're doing a helluva job for me, Cross." Cisneros stated.

"Lieutenant, reinforce Third Platoon's position with another squad's worth of your marines, including the team you just sent. And tell the motor pool to pull the mounted machineguns from the Warthogs. A group from Fourth Platoon will be there shortly to place the machineguns in defensive positions." Schmidt ordered, dismissing the Lieutenant.

Cross saluted both the Lieutenant Colonel and the Captain before ascending the staircase of the cellar back into the courtyard. He returned to his platoon's section of the line and hopped back down into the trench-line, turning to Westin. "I'm taking first squad to reinforce Hagar and Third Platoon. They've got eleven marines left." Cross explained to his platoon sergeant. "Hold here. The guns from the 'Hogs are going to be taken off to use as mounted turrets." He added, before turning to the rest of his marines. "First squad, on me!" He shouted, guiding them towards the makeshift motor pool. A burly looking Corporal stood, shouting orders to the various mechanics running around the cinder-block garage. "Corporal."

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" The Corporal questioned, not deviating from his current task.

"Captain Schmidt wants the guns dismounted from the Warthogs to use as emplacements." Cross stated.

"Son of a bitch..." The Corporal muttered under his breath, before sighing. "Get these turrets dismounted! Double time, boys! The Captain needed 'em five minutes ago!" He shouted out, putting all of his men to work.

With his job complete, Cross began jogging towards Third Platoon's section of the defensive line, leading his first squad to where Lieutenant Barrackman's platoon was. When they arrived, they found that the bodies of all those that were killed in action during the last Covenant assault had not yet been removed from where they lay, dead and battered. Their bodies were scorched and bloodies by the telltale signs of plasma weaponry.

A man Cross presumed to be Lieutenant Barrackman was leaned over the trembling body of a shaking female marine, who was ghastly pale and was clutching a wound in her abdomen that looked as if it had been caused by the ferocious Needler weapon that fired pink crystals, which shattered upon impact, sending heated glass-like shards through their victim. It was an almost guaranteed kill if it hit the victim's midsection. "Did we hold, sir?" She questioned in barely a whisper.

Barrackman nodded with a solemn smile. "Don't worry, Staff Sergeant. The line's all good." The Lieutenant paused and looked up at his platoon's corpsman, a Petty Officer Third Class who simply shook his head, indicating that she wouldn't make it through, even with medical attention.

"Take up positions and watch the line." Cross ordered his squad of eight, grabbing a well shaven PFC as he jogged past. "Man the gun." The young Second Lieutenant ordered, pointing to M247 General Purpose Machinegun that was covered with was assumed to be the dying Staff Sergeant's blood. As the Private First Class with the name 'Jensen' carved into his armor's breastplate moved to follow Cross' order, the Second Lieutenant knelt down next to Barrackman.

It looked as if the Staff Sergeant had died, cradled in Barrackman's arms, as Cross had given Jensen and the other members of first squad their orders. "She was good marine." Barrackman said to Cross as he gently lowering her to the snow covered trench floor, closing her eyelids afterwards. "I'm Second Lieutenant John Barrackman." Barrackman introduced himself, shaking Cross' hand.

"Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross. I'm First Platoon's new CO." Cross stated. "I'm here to shore up your defenses." He added, pausing to reload his M392 D.M.R. with a fresh magazine of 7.62mm armor piercing bullets.

"That's good to hear, 'cause right now, Third Platoon has no defenses to speak of. I've got fifty three meters of trench-line to cover and have eleven men to do it. Now, with you, your squad, and Hagar's machinegun team we can cover most of the trench effectively." The thirty year old Barrackman explained to the younger, inexperienced Lieutenant.

Cross nodded. "Right. How's your platoon's ammo?" He questioned, only to be cutoff by the sound of a mortar shot flying overhead. Only this time, it wasn't going to overshoot its target. It was coming right for where the two Lieutenants stood. Cross had mere seconds to react, pushing Barrackman back and tossing himself atop the older officer. The last thing Cross recalled was the smell of burnt flesh and a single, agonizing scream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Battered Bastards of Ida**  
 **Chapter Two: Victory**  
 **January 21st, 2527**

* * *

Lieutenant Nikolai Cross groaned as he slowly came to, fighting back the throngs of blissful unconsciousness. The first thing that registered in his mind was the sound of gunfire and plasma weaponry. A pain seared through his back as he slowly pushed himself off of the ice cold ground, shaking himself free of the temporary grogginess. "Incoming!" Somebody shouted as another plasma bolt flew over, leaving an impact crater behind the trench-line.

Cross clenched his teeth in pain as he finally managed to stumble to his feet and begin assessing the situation. Barrackman's still body lay several meters away from him, having been dragged away from Cross, while several marines lay dead within the trench. Private First Class Jensen, with a large plasma burn on his left shoulder, manned the machinegun that had been operated by Barrackman's platoon sergeant before her demise with only one working arm, reloading as best and as fast he could manage.

Corporal Hagar and several other marines were manning the other M247 GPMG further down the line, mowing down several sections of Grunts.

It finally occurred to Cross that they were under attack, his mind suddenly snapping out of the psychosis like state that unconsciousness had brought about. The Lieutenant began searching for his rifle, finding it on the ground and discovering the M392 DMR to be inoperable due to part of it being melted from the mortar shot that had landed within the trench-line.

Cross instead opted to retrieve his holstered M6C Personal Defense Weapon System, firing the .50 caliber hand-cannon at the encroaching Covenant forces, who were making another large push towards the company CP. Despite his own pain, Cross continuously fired at the seemingly endless wave of Covenant, taking out several Grunts and Jackals who were pushing closer and closer to the line.

When his twelve round magazine ran dry and Jensen paused to reload, Cross shuffled over and grabbed Jensen's discarded MA37 Assault Rifle, steadying himself on the edge of the trench-line and laying down fire to cover Jensen. His body screamed in both pain and protest, but the Lieutenant carried on. "Pour it on those squid fucks!" The usually calm Lieutenant roared tenaciously to the Private First Class after he had finished reloading.

Dusk was coming on in the Plains of Ida region, ever so oblivious to the battle going on within the valley that the plains were situated within. If it wasn't for the plasma bolts of various coloration firing over his head, Cross may have once called it a serene winter landscape, something an artist would paint, but now it was nothing more than a darker battlefield splattered with the blood of both humans and Covenant troops.

Jensen opened up on the Covenant lines, slaughtering a group led by two Elites that had almost made it into the trench-line and pushing back quite a few more. With just one hundred rounds in the magazine and two more reloads, it was only a matter of time before the Covenant pushed through.

To make matters worse, however, Cross noticed that parts of the line had already collapsed, with marines collapsing left and right. The Covenant simply jumped through these gaps in the trench-line and continued pushing. It was a slaughter for both sides, but the Covenant had the upper hand. "Fall back, Jensen!" Cross shouted, taking over the machinegun emplacement from the wounded PFC.

Jensen left Cross his assault rifle, and moved to help the now conscious Barrackman to his feet as several marines joined in the retreat. "Retreat!" Cross roared to any remaining marines, emptying the magazine in the M247 GPMG. He grabbed his discarded sidearm, reloaded it, and fired it with one hand as he loaded another hundred rounds into the machinegun.

He opened up once more, covering the marines as they made their escape and held the line as best he could. It didn't take long to exhaust through the remainder of the ammo at this gun, with Cross sprinting towards the other machinegun emplacement, utilizing his sidearm in one hand and Jensen's assault rifle in the other to hold the enemy at bay while he moved to man the other turret.

Once there, the Lieutenant opened up into the enemy lines yet again, taking down quite a few of the cannon fodder Grunts and Jackals that were being sent in waves. The right flank was partially secure, but the left was wide open. Cross unmounted the 7.62mm machinegun and moved it closer to the middle of the line to better cover the entirety of the trench-line.

Cross used the machinegun as he would an assault rifle, resting it without a weapon mount on the snow covered edge of the makeshift and quickly dugout trench. With only a single one hundred magazine left, the Lieutenant reloaded the M247 for the final time and fired burst after burst into Elites, Jackals, and Grunts alike, leaving them to lie dead or heavily wounded on the battlefield.

But, they kept coming in waves and it was only a matter of time before he ran out of ammo. Cross grabbed a nearby deceased marine's M45 Tactical Shotgun, firing eight gauge shells into the fast approaching cannon fodder aliens as he clambered out of the back of the trench-line and slowly began retreating towards the CP.

Once the shotgun's ammo was exhausted, Cross threw the useless weapon at a Grunt that had made it into very close proximity to the Lieutenant, knocking the Grunt off its feet in surprise. Cross turned a sprinted back towards the CP, shouting all the way. "Friendly! Friendly!" He called out as he dove through the brush and into the courtyard of the CP.

There he found that the remaining marines from the middle trench-line, which was mostly comprised of members of his platoon's first squad, had setup defensive positions to defend against the oncoming Covenant that had overrun them. This included the recently dismounted M247H Heavy Machineguns taken from the company's Warthogs. "Hold your fire!" Barrackman shouted upon seeing Cross emerge from the brush.

The Second Lieutenant sprinted to the cover and practically dived behind the defenses, taken cover from the Covenant forces that had been hot on his heels. "Incoming." Was all Cross managed to say before the heavy machineguns opened up on the Covenant that emerged from the brush as the Lieutenant had. Barrackman thrust an M7 Caseless Submachinegun into his hands to help the defenders.

Cross leaned over his cover and opened up, expelling the caseless rounds towards the Covenant in short fire bursts. He aimed for the more vulnerable Jackals and Grunts, leaving the Elites to the heavy machineguns, knowing his SMG would do practically no damage against the larger beings' energy shields. Barrackman stood with an MA37 Assault Rifle and fired shredder rounds into the unshielded Covenant, tearing their bodies apart upon impact.

Barrackman moved to reload, but a stray shot from a Needler punctured the man's forehead and exploded, killing him instantly. Barrackman slumped to his knees and fell over, dead before he had even hit the ground. Cross was nearly too stunned to return fire, but he continued firing, knowing that the line rested in the hands of the remaining marines in the CP's courtyard.

Once the sixty bullet magazine for Cross' SMG was out, he pulled Barrackman's sidearm free of its holster and used that in place of the highly inaccurate submachinegun. He fired .50 caliber round after .50 caliber round into the Covenant, pulling spare magazines free from Barrackman's utility belt to reload.

Captain Matthias Schmidt himself was on the line, firing a BR55 Service Rifle at the enemy, risking his own life alongside the rest of the marines of Charlie Company to protect their position and hold the line. It wasn't long until the marines found themselves in a similar situation to what had happened on the trench-line, however. They were running low on ammo and even though enemy bodies were piling up in front of the human defenses, unending wave upon unending wave threw themselves at the marines.

At this point, corpsman and walking wounded were armed and were defending the CP with everything they had. Rocket launchers, shotguns, assault rifles, battle rifles, submachineguns, mounted weaponry, knives, anything the marines had in their arsenal was currently in use. It seemed like a desperate gamble for nothing in return. Human casualties were piling on, with the enemy not stopping.

That was, until, the UNSC Navy came through. Four GA-TL1 Longsword-class Interceptors flew over the head of Charlie Company, firing their main armaments into the midst of the Covenant assault force and driving many of them into retreat. UNSC Army operated UH-144 Falcons flew overhead as well, raining fire with both a chaingun on the chin of the craft and two 7.62mm M247H Machineguns mounted on either side of the craft.

The marines of Charlie Company all stood, bewildered at what had appeared before their very eyes. Actual support craft had been sent to save them from a dire situation. In the last year long campaign Charlie Company had endured on Harvest, they had yet to even see a fighter, much less four of them coming to their aid. It was like a dream. Suddenly, cheering began, which soon transformed into an uproar as several of the Falcons covered a Pelican as it came in to land.

When it was on the ground, no other than Lieutenant Colonel Robert Cisneros stepped off the dropship, with two marine guards flanking him and a lit cigar in hand. "Good evening, Charlie Company!" He shouted, fueling the marines' uproar even more. Cisneros saw Cross and grimaced slightly at the Second Lieutenant's appearance. "Lieutenant Cross, you look like hell. Where's Schmidt?" He questioned, looking around for the Captain.

It was then Cross noticed Matthias Schmidt's body, laying still next to First Lieutenant Geoffrey Killian, whose face was half scorched from a charged shot fired by a Covenant plasma pistol. Both were dead. Cross warily pointed towards the Captain's body, with Cisneros following where he was pointing.

"Shit. And Killian, too... What about Lieutenant Barrackman?" Cross simply shook his head.

"I..." Cross paused and shook his head again. "I think I'm the only officer standing, sir." He explained to the Lieutenant Colonel.

Cisneros frowned and stared into the battle hardened faces of Charlie Company. "Standing isn't much of a statement, Lieutenant. Sit down. I'll get a corpsman to look at your back, son." The forty six year old battalion commanding officer stated.

"My back, sir?"

"It's burnt to hell, Lieutenant, or did you not notice?" Cisneros questioned in awe.

Cross simply shrugged, wincing in pain at the slight movement. He was noticing it now that the adrenaline from the battle was wearing off. The Petty Officer Third Class who had declared Barrackman's platoon sergeant dead moved to treat Cross, easing the Lieutenant off of his feet. Private First Class Jensen wearily offering his commanding officer a canteen, with Cross graciously accepting. He took a swig as Cisneros spoke with another ranking officer who had stepped off the Pelican.

Cisneros approached Cross once more, kneeling next to the severely wounded platoon leader. "Charlie's being pulled from the line, Lieutenant. The rest of 3rd Battalion ensnared the Covenant as they pushed towards your position. We outflanked and outgunned them. The Plains of Ida are ours again. Thanks to you and the rest of Charlie Company.

Sergeant Westin joined Cisneros in leaning down next to the Lieutenant, checking on his recently assigned platoon leader. Cross simply nodded, unable to speak as the pain from his scorched back took over and he drifted into a state of sublime unconsciousness once more after the corpsman had injected him with syrette shot of morphine.

Charlie Company was being rotated out and Cross had endured one day of heavy combat with them. Already, however, news of his single handed defense of the trench-line was spreading throughout the company. He was already being revered as a hero by his men, but somehow, Cross didn't feel like much of a hero. At the end of the day, First Platoon walked away from the Final Battle of the Plains of Ida with twenty one of their thirty four members deceased.

The remaining thirteen came to be known throughout Charlie Company as the 'Lucky Thirteen'. None of them felt lucky. Out of the one hundred plus men and women of Charlie Company, only forty four walked away from the Plains of Ida.

Charlie Company's role within the Plains of Ida battle became legendary within the entirety of the UNSC, gaining the famed title of Battered Bastards of Ida. Though their contributions in the Human-Covenant War would span well past the Harvest Campaign, the name would stick with them.

For many, it was a heroic reminded of the few who held an entire division's worth of Covenant troops for nearly a month with little-to-no support except for an occasional group of replacement marines. For the ones who survived the battle, even the young Lieutenant Cross, who had only fought in Ida for a single day, it was a grim reminder of the costs of the war.


	3. Chapter 3

**Battered Bastards of Ida**  
 **Chapter Three: Fall of Gladsheim**  
 **February 18th, 2527**

* * *

 _"In Gladsheim, Charlie Company was due for rest and recuperation from the fighting they had seen in the Plains of Ida theater of operations, but thanks to the overwhelming force of the Covenant Fleet, that was not to be. We were sick of fighting, but it wasn't going to stop for us anytime soon. There were times I thought about turning an MA5 on myself and taking the easy way out, but somehow he was always there. He never was one to give inspirational speeches, but he knew exactly what to do to keep us fighting. He was what kept us together for so long..." Recovered Field Journal of Hospital Corpsman Third Class Jack Dean._

* * *

Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross had been on Harvest for almost two and a half weeks and he had already been in a field hospital with third degree plasma burns covering the entirety of his back from a Covenant artillery piece against Charlie Company position in the Plains of Ida.

Charlie Company was apart of the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment of the 17th Marine Infantry Division stationed planetside on the Outer Colony of Harvest and they had seen some of the toughest fighting of the campaign so far, with only forty four surviving members walking away from the Battle of the Ida Plains. Lieutenant Cross was the last officer of the entire company still alive and senior enlisted marines were few and far between.

After Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros' timely rescue, it was discovered by the marines of Charlie Company that the fleet in the space surrounding Harvest had been defeated once more and were now licking their wounds out of system, leaving the ground troops to fend for themselves against the Covenant invaders. With little in the way of support and no reinforcements coming anytime soon, Cisneros was forced to leave the Second Lieutenant temporarily in charge of the Battered Bastards of Ida.

With mismatched weapons and armor pieces, varying levels of morale, and wounded still being treated, uniformity amongst the marines of Charlie Company was nonexistent. No one marine looked alike, but each fought tenaciously to defend the ground gained during the battles within the Plains of Ida.

Now, the company was allowed to lick their wounds in the rubble ridden town of Gladsheim. It was a small town, mostly categorized by destroyed farm supply warehouses, but the Magnetically Levitated train station was surprisingly still standing within the center of the town, leaving it as a viable placement for the battalion's headquarters.

While Cross was technically supposed to still be in the field hospital, he had left several days ago to assist the recently promoted Staff Sergeant Westin in reorganizing Charlie Company as best they could with the members they had left. Charlie Company was stationed in the collapsed MagLev train that was a kilometer from the outskirts of town, acting as the vanguard for 3rd Battalion's headquarters.

With Brigadier General James K. Kennedy, the commanding officer of the 17th Marine Division, and his entire headquarters dead Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros was acting blindly without orders. Nobody knew who was in command of the Harvest Campaign anymore and every battalion was acting upon their own orders, without official word from a higher command.

2nd Battalion of the 1st Marine Regiment was silent, with no news being heard from them, while 1st and 3rd were holding their positions to lick their wounds and recover. Army units had been moving against the Covenant, but any and all reports from them had ceased arriving to Cisneros' HQ. Another marine regiment, the 9th Marine Mechanized Regiment of the 288th Armored Division, had performed a regiment sized attack against the glassed capital city of Utgard, but had failed miserably.

The 9th lost nearly all of their officers and was currently in hiding within the Vigrond Highlands, led by the regiment's executive officer, one Major Katerina Clyde. Reports from them were sporadic at best. Right now, it seemed that the 1st Marine Regiment, the 9th Marine Mechanized Regiment, and the 6th Army Aviation Battalion were the only active elements planetside, with the rest being completely wiped out.

3rd Battalion's sister battalion, 2nd Battalion, had taken the reclaimed Plains of Ida after Cisneros pulled his marines off the line. It seemed as if the Harvest Campaign was crumbling and the presence of several Covenant Battleships within the colony's upper atmosphere did not help to increase morale amongst the men and women who had already been beaten and bloodied by the intense, month long conflict in the Plains of Ida.

Cross had yet to see the worse of the war, with only one day of combat officially under his belt. The marines of Charlie Company, however, had grown a deep respect for the young, inexperienced officer.

Rumors of the way Cross had held the line practically by himself to buy the others time had circulated throughout the entirety of the company, leaving them with a fond respect for the marine who had only seen a single day of fighting. Charlie Company, on the other hand, had been, at the very least, around fighting for the last year. They were veterans. They were men and women who had seen more combat than some service members saw with twenty years of experience.

They were the Battered Bastards of Ida. That was all people referred to Charlie Company after the reclamation of the Ida Plains. The rumors of how they fought off three divisions of Covenant and killed sixteen Covenant Zealot officers (while in reality it was hardly a division's worth of Covenant filled with the cannon fodder that were Grunts and Jackals and no confirmed or speculated Zealots) circulated like wildfire amongst the survivors of the 1st Marine Regiment.

Instead of being known as the company's actual nickname, the Charlie Company Jackknives, Battered Bastards of Ida seemed to be their new, unofficial nickname.

None of that mattered to Nikolai Cross, however. He was too busy trying to figure out how the company would be organized. With only forty four members, with Cross and Westin filling in as the only component of company headquarters sections, platoons were split up into three sections with fourteen marines in each. Each section was led by one of the remaining three Sergeants in the company.

It was barely three squads worth of men, but it was an ad-hoc formation made to accommodate what Cross had to work with.

In the crashed MagLev train, Cross was busy reading through a report given to him by Lieutenant Colonel Cisneros about standing orders for the companies of 3rd Battalion. Currently, the orders were to entrench and wait for reinforcements that seemed unlikely to arrive anytime soon. With the UNSC Navy seemingly beaten, the 1st Marine Regiment and the few other survivors on the planet were stuck without assistance.

It was a hellish situation and Cross could do nothing but be frustrated. Not even a month in the field and already he felt as if he had seen enough of war. "Hey, L-Tee." Staff Sergeant Westin's voice drew Cross away from his thoughts, with the Staff Sergeant taking a seat next to the temporary company commander. Westin had just briefly inspected the few remaining marines of Charlie Company, while Cross filled out paperwork.

"Mornin', Staff Sergeant." Cross greeted him with a yawn. "Did you send a section to take over for Sergeant Grant and her section on the line?" The Lieutenant questioned his second in command. 2nd Battalion had established a defensive trench-line which encircled the town ruins to prevent any Covenant from breaking through, though no attacks had been committed against Gladsheim since Brigadier General Kennedy's death.

Westin nodded, removing his combat boots to massage his sore feet. "Yessir, I sent Sergeant Lewis. His section sat out the last patrol, so I sent them out there for an eight hour shift." He explained, adding a brief justification to fully satisfy Cross.

"Sounds good." Cross said simply, before letting out a deep sigh and setting down the stack of papers that were in his hands. "This is not a situation we want to find ourselves in, Staff Sergeant. We're outgunned, outnumbered, out everything, and to top it off with the metaphorical cherry we have no fleet. It's just going to get worse from here." As if on cue, the ground violently shook, with a deafening sound roaring out simultaneously.

Both Cross and Westin stood from where they sat to run out of the ruined MagLev train and investigate. When Cross figured out what it was, he stood in complete awe at what was overhead.

A Covenant operated CPV-Class Heavy Destroyer was taking up position over the burnt out town ruins of Gladsheim. "Sir, with all due respect, stop talking about bad situations." Westin managed to say, before the destroyer's underbelly opened, unleashing a hell upon the planet. It wasn't glassing the planet, not this time.

It was dropping troops in pods and, even worse than that, a large transport of sorts fell from the belly of the figurative beast, landing on the ground with a thundering roar. "What the hell is that thing?" Cross asked, taking a step back in surprise.

"That is hell on legs, L-Tee. It's a Scarab. Four legged assault platform capable of destroying a regiment's worth of infantry marines." Lance Corporal Isaac Jackson explained, joining the two as they watched the destroyer drop troops into the middle of the town. Gunfire erupted from where the battalion headquarters were stationed, but they had little chance to repel the assault being sent their way.

Lieutenant Cross ran back inside of the MagLev train, grabbing his MA5B Assault Rifle, when the company's single radio came to life with the sound of chaos. _"Cross, this is Cisneros!"_ The Lieutenant Colonel paused and magnum shots could be heard over the transmission. _"We're fucked here, son! I sent the wounded your way the minute we caught sight of that ship."_ Another pause for gunfire. Plasma shots could also be heard. _"Consider this a battlefield promotion. Get them out of the combat zone and rally any troops from the trenches that you can find. I'm destroying my radio now. Good luck out there. Cisneros... out."_ Before Cross even had the opportunity to speak, the transmission suddenly cutout, left only with static.

Cross stood, dumbfounded by what he had heard for several seconds, before springing into action. He grabbed the backpack radio, slinging it over his shoulders and exiting the MagLev train. "Westin, get the company ready to move out. We're falling back." He stated, defeat in his voice.

"Yessir. Charlie Company!" Staff Sergeant Westin's voice boomed, sure to capture the attention of any and all of the company. "You've got two minutes to gather your gear! We're moving out!" He shouted out the order, moving to make sure everyone followed their orders.

"Lance Corporal, get up to the line and pass the word. We're falling back. They're to fall in with us." Cross explained, sending Jackson out to the trench-line. Cross then ran back into the train and began packing up his makeshift headquarters. In reality, it was several ammo cans filled with disorganized papers and his duffel bag. With no vehicles to assist in transporting his marines, Cross chose to burn the paperwork to prevent it from being captured after it would be left behind during the company's retreat.

Westin joined Cross in packing up the company's headquarters, moving as fast as they could. It was only a matter of time before the Covenant defeated what little resistance was within Gladsheim.

Once Cross exited the MagLev train with everything that was needed, he found that the wounded he had been tasked with escorting out of the combat zone were arriving in throngs, with varying states of wounded arriving. Some were walking wounded, who were carrying what weapons they could find, while others were less mobile. Many were being carried on stretchers by fellow wounded marines and corpsmen.

A marine who had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head and walked with a limp from some sort of leg wound approached the Lieutenant. "Master Gunnery Sergeant Henry Terrance, sir. I'm the senior NCO of the battalion. " The marine introduced himself, shaking the Lieutenant's hand. "I'm also the senior member of this column." Terrance explained, motioning to the garbled formation of sixty plus wounded and corpsmen. No officers seemed to be present in the formation, unfortunately.

"We're walking the wounded out of the combat zone, Master Guns. Anyone who can still fight are to grab whatever weaponry can be scrounged up. We're leaving in ten minutes." Cross explained to the senior enlisted man, who nodded.

"Yessir." Terrance stated, briskly turning to the wounded column. "Walking wounded, grab weapons and ammo! Stretcher bearers, take a minute to rest now and give the wounded water! We won't be stopping for quite awhile!" The Master Gunnery Sergeant bellowed to the wounded men and women, who moved to follow the senior non-commissioned officer's word.

Westin approached Cross, his MA3C Assault Rifle in hands, his standard issued CH252 armored helmet on in place of his usual soft cover. "Sir, this is a lot of guys to cover with barely a platoon sized element." Westin stated, voicing his reservations.

"No time to worry about that, Staff Sergeant. I had Jackson pass word to the entrenched marines, but I think some of them are being hit as we speak. We may need to fight our way out of this war zone." Cross stated, placing his own CH252 armored helmet on over his head. "Let's move it people! We've got Covenant hot on our tails. I want First Platoon covering our flank, with Third Platoon covering our front! Second Platoon will file in with First when we link up!" The Lieutenant shouted his orders, shouldering his personal duffel bag and grasping his MA5B Assault Rifle.

Before long, they were finally ready to move out, with the sound of resistance within the town ruins dying down. It seemed that Gladsheim had fallen, leaving Cross and his marines alone. 3rd Battalion was virtually wiped out. 2nd Battalion was almost a hundred miles away, making it unlikely to link up with them, while the other surviving units on the planet were few and just as scattered as the others, barely able to survive, much less operate.

Cross chose to march at the flank with the makeshift First Platoon, led by Sergeant Garrett Alexander, helping to ensure no one was left behind on their march out of the combat zone. First Platoon and Second Platoon were the most well rested sections within Charlie Company, while Sergeant Grant's Third Platoon had just come off a six hour shift of watching the line. That's why First and Second would be protecting the flank once they linked up with Sergeant Lewis and his marines. They were the most well rested.

The one makeshift group of one hundred and fifteen marines, mostly consisting of walking wounded and battle weary troops, slowly began their march east, leaving the ruins of Gladsheim behind them, with no sure destination ahead.

Cross knew that the only way for him to lead the marines under his command was to the east of them and that was the general direction he wanted his marines to go. There was also a mountain range, the Modstand Mountains, to the east, situated between the Gladsheim region and the Plains of Ida. It was possible for them to march into the mountains and use them as a place to hide from the Covenant, but that was a lot of ground for the wounded to cover, with very little breaks in between.

It was the only option they had, at the moment, and Westin intended to capitalize on it. After regrouping with the surviving troops that had been pulled out of the trench-line encircling Gladsheim, Cross made his intentions known to the top NCO's. The one hundred and ten kilometer march to the Modstand Mountain was underway.

At that time, Cross had no idea how vital the Modstand Mountains would become to the Harvest Campaign..


	4. Chapter 4

**Battered Bastards of Ida**  
 **Chapter Four: Modstand** **Fortress**  
 **February 20th, 2527**

* * *

 _"I was pretty much rendered useless on account of a lost leg during 3rd Battalion's jaunt in the mountain range on Harvest. The Modstand Fortress, we called it. We were in those damn mountains for what felt like an eternity with little to no rations, no ammo, no reinforcements, nothing. That was where we really hit our lowest point in the Harvest Campaign._

 _But that damn Lieutenant made every second spent in those mountains look like garrison duty. He always took things in stride, including the devastating defeat at Gladsheim. It was just another event that unfolded before him. At the time, we felt like we were goners. He carried us the whole way. Even the enlisted marines who didn't know of him until the Gladsheim retreat relied upon him." Comment From the Interview of Gunnery Sergeant Jaymes Zientalla; Wounded Member of 3rd Battalion After the Gladsheim Defeat.  
_

* * *

It had been two days since Second Lieutenant Nikolai Cross, who had been in temporary command of the Battered Bastards of Ida, led two hundred and twenty one combatants and wounded personnel away from the ruins of Gladsheim after a surprise Covenant attack that wiped out all officers of the 3rd Battalion of the 1st Marine Regiment, 17th Marine Division in one fell swoop. **  
**

With Cross as the only remaining officer, the twenty two year old had led sixty two wounded and one hundred and fifty nine uninjured combatants out of the Gladsheim combat zone. He chose to march them into the Modstand Mountain Range in hopes of hiding out and fighting the Covenant using irregular warfare tactics until reinforcements arrived. If reinforcements arrived.

The battered column still lost people, however. Five wounded personnel died during the two day march into the mountain range, but the rest made it relatively unscathed. Once there, the two hundred and sixteen remaining members of 3rd Battalion sheltered themselves within a cave system that ran through the Modstand Mountain of which the mountain range was named after.

Said cave system had housed a large scale mining operating within it, leaving the remnants of 3rd Battalion with good cover from the snowy conditions that were found in the mountain range.

The remnant force from 3rd Battalion had arrived mere hours ago and already were setting up living quarters to house the surviving members of 3rd Battalion for a long term stay within the cave system. Cross, unlike many others, didn't rest. Not for a second. There was too much to coordinate, especially for a lowly Second Lieutenant with a single day of combat experience under his belt.

But, he kept a calm demeanor at all times. Cross was careful not to snap when he was asked the same question multiple times, he encouraged the men and women who were already on the brink of exhaustion to continue, just for a little while longer. When he wasn't doing that, he was assigning the few senior NCO's who were uninjured tasks to complete.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Terrance was the senior most enlisted man and was Cross' go to man when he needed advice for management and placement, but Staff Sergeant Westin was the Lieutenant's true crutch. Westin kept the troops working, while Terrance guided and advised. It was a setup that Cross depended on. He was left with very little in the way of senior NCO's, while inexperienced Privates seemed to make up the brunt of his force.

Cross knew he would work with what he had. With the Meals, Ready-To-Eat and ammo that had been pooled together into a central location, jokingly dubbed the 7.62 Mess Hall by the marines due to it being both the Battalion's food store and ammo cache, 3rd Battalion could theoretically holdout for two months if they limited each marine to a single 1,100 calorie meal a day.

What the two hundred and sixteen marines lacked most was the clothing necessary to beat the cold temperatures found on the mountain. The best they could do to stave off the cold was light open flames, leaving the mine shaft hazy from smoke. Cross didn't mind the smoke. It helped heat the abandoned mine, to a degree.

The ad-hoc unit of men and women were doing the best they could with what they had. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Currently, Cross was organizing a vanguard to ensure that the marines wouldn't be cornered without warning. Several handheld radios had been scrounged up for use, adding to the unit's backpack radio and allowing communication without the use of messengers. The Lieutenant had gathered a force of six marines, including a sniper and spotter team, to act as a recon force.

Corporal Hagar had, at some point, retrieved a SRS99C-S2 AM Sniper Rifle, leaving him as the ad-hoc group's designated sniper. Lance Corporal Isaac Jackson, Private First Class Spencer Jensen, and Privates Lucas Matthues, Nicole Barden, and Erik Sullivan had volunteered to join Hagar's team. Cross was in the process of giving them their orders.

"Hagar, find a place to set up yourself and Jensen. You'll act as the recon portion of the team. You see anything that so much as looks alien, you get on the squawk box ASAP. Jackson will take the rest of you and act as a quick reaction force in case Covenant are spotted by Hagar and Jensen. Until that moment, you'll station yourself outside of the mine shaft's entrance. Nothing comes in or out without my express say so. Each section leader of the team will take a handheld radio. Don't break radio silence unless there are Elites banging on my front door." Cross paused, handing Hagar and Jackson the only two handheld radios. "Questions?" He looked at each member of the team, before nodding. "Get it done." He ordered, sending the team off to perform their duty.

"Sir, don't you believe a large QRF is needed?" Master Gunnery Sergeant Terrance questioned, hobbling beside Cross as the Lieutenant continued onto the next crisis that was sure to be unfolding.

"The closest marines inside the mine are meters away, Master Guns. Besides, if the Covenant come stamping around on our front door, we won't have enough time to evacuate. This is the best we have right now. It's a shitty situation, but it's my call. We've got nowhere left to run, so we make this the end of the line." Cross explained, dismissing Terrance's grievance. "See how the corpsmen are doing in the sickbay. If they need anything, bring it to me so I can try and scrounge it up." The Lieutenant ordered, sending Terrance hobbling away.

Cross entered the makeshift dugout that was currently being used as the unit's headquarters. The HQ really only housed Cross' bunk and the backpack radio, which Cross would now carry at all times in case the recon team called in. In the meantime, Cross would scan through different frequencies in search of any sign of UNSC. He wasn't optimistic, but last he knew the 6th Army Aviation Battalion was still active somewhere, as was the 9th Marine Mechanized Regiment. 2nd Battalion was also still active in the Plains of Ida, though he didn't know their status. Any one of those elements may transmit at any time, looking for surviving UNSC members, just as Cross would do.

The Lieutenant, however, severely doubted they would break silence, in fear of alerting the Covenant to their location. For now, 3rd Battalion was on its own.


End file.
